Back at the house, he led her to the studio. The drawings from Absence, Day 1 to Day 63 were pinned to every wall, a silent, anguished procession. Mira walked slowly, looking at each one. Her eyes glistened, but she didn't cry. When she reached the last drawing, the door, she stopped.
He drew the coffee maker, unused. He drew the half-empty jar of her favorite marionberry jam, pushed to the back of the fridge. He drew the dust motes dancing in the shaft of afternoon light that used to catch the auburn in her hair.
Then, on a Tuesday in late October, Mira left. drawing series
He drew the first thing he saw: the empty chair across from his at the kitchen table. It was a simple Windsor rocker, but as his charcoal moved, the chair began to feel less like an object and more like a presence. The hollow of the seat held a shape that wasn't there. The rockers seemed poised for a motion that would not come.
She looked at the drawing for a long time. Then she reached out and, with her index finger, traced the line of the door's handle. "It's not a door to somewhere else," she said, finally. "It's a door to right here. To this room. To this house. With me in it." Back at the house, he led her to the studio
Elias stared at it. He reached out his charcoal-stained finger and touched the paper. The surface was flat and rough. But the door looked… openable.
Elias looked at her, but didn't really see her. He saw the way the porch light sculpted the hollow of her cheek, the soft transition from light to dark on her forehead. "Light is a liar," he said, quietly. "It tells you what's there, but it hides what's missing." Her eyes glistened, but she didn't cry
Mira's sister's house was a modest bungalow with a tidy garden. Mira was in the backyard, pruning roses. She looked up when he opened the gate.
His students grew worried. A delegation came to the house. Their knock was tentative. Elias answered the door with charcoal smeared on his cheek and a distant look in his eye.
"Professor Voss?" said a girl named Lena, his most talented student. "We haven't seen you in two weeks."
He didn't draw anything else that day. He put down his charcoal, walked to the front door, put on his coat, and drove to Portland.